


A White Coat for My Blond

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bestiality, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10170155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: HP/LM. Harry and Lucius discover that not all magic can be learned and that sometimes it just happens to you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Title: A White Coat for My Blond  
Author: Scyllablue  
Rating: FRAO  
Disclaimer: No, I do not own. -sigh- All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Summary: Harry and Lucius discover that not all magic can be learned and that sometimes it just happens to you.  
Pairings: Harry/Lucius, Draco/Ron, Remus/Sirius, Severus/Bill  
Author’s Note: Okay, I confess that I love the veela! stories that are becoming as cliché as mind melds. They’re as guilty as chocolate and as fun, so I wanted to write my own. I actually wrote a couple of veela stories before I was happy to carry through with this one, my indulgence between Riley and Whitney, my usual rent boys.

~*~ 

A White Coat for My Blond

After the boy Harry Potter defeated Voldemort the remains of his deatheaters were summarily arrested. Lucius Malfoy had gone quietly to every one’s surprise, but he was a father first and foremost. Once he had Dumbeldore and the Ministry’s promise not to involve Draco in any way he had calmly surrendered himself into the dingy cell that was most likely the last place he would ever see. He refused to answer questions and arched a disdainful eyebrow at their threats of torture, reminding them of whom he had served. Though that did not prevent them at trying to see if their barely sanctioned methods would prove any more effective. He refused any visitors. His good-byes he had tendered to his son on that final night of confrontation before sending him to the relative safety of the Weasleys. Besides Draco, there was no one he had any measurable words to say.

Dumbeldore came anyway, despite his stated wish to be left alone. The old man entered the cold cell with the same solemn walk with which he progressed everywhere, the twinkle in his eyes undimmed by his surroundings or the closed face of the man who awaited him. He stopped near the center of the closet-sized room, calmly taking in the lack of furnishings. There was no bed, nor chairs, or any furnishings at all. Just a privy hole in one corner and Lucius in the other. If nothing else, the silver-haired veela could laud the Ministry for their interpretation of a sparse prison cell. After ten days of beatings, no food, fouled water, and the incessant attentions of Fudge, Lucius was ready for the dementor’s kiss.

“Lucius,” the Headmaster of Hogwarts began, “I know you have refused to speak to any of the Ministry’s officials, but seeing this state of affairs, I can see why not. However, I would give you one more chance to speak before you are judged.”

“Do not think your part was small in putting me here,” Lucius spat, once silken voice rough from thirst and screaming. “The Ministry act by your sanction. Yours and the Order. You judge us deatheaters so harshly in comparison to what paragons of goodness and mercy? This? I will not lower myself to beg for my life from such hypocrites as yourself and your Ministry.”

The old wizard stared at him for a long moment. Perhaps remembering the brightness of the boy Malfoy had once been. Sadness crept across his wizened face then, and he turned to leave. “Very well, Lucius. I bid you farewell.”

“Goodbye, Dumbledore.”

HP HP HP HP HP HP

 

They came for him that night. By their determined expressions he knew his judgment had been passed, yet no dementors accompanied them. With harsh efficiency they hauled him from his corner and to his feet, binding his wrists behind him with a length of magically strengthened flax. Was it to be a public execution, Lucius wondered as an auror each took an arm and apparated them from the cell.

Re-appearing in darkness and the veela was shoved forward and yanked into something. At the slamming of doors he realized it was an automobile.

“Where are you taking me?” Lucius demanded, twisting about between his jailers until he was subdued by an elbow to his cheek. The pain exploded into an array of colors and the blond slumped forward to put forehead to knees. No one made move to haul him upright so he stayed as he was, hanks of hair of an undeterminably brown shade hiding his face. His only consolation was the uncomfortable shifting of his escort. After so long in a cell that had never been cleaned of its numerous occupants’ leavings, and numerous it was as Azkaban had stood for centuries, Lucius knew he reeked. Locks that had once shimmered silver now clumped and stuck together by means he refused to think about. He hoped his kit would not be given opportunity to see his father thus.

Time tracked itself, but Lucius drifted. At one point, one of his seatmates cracked a window, but a harsh voice from the front told him to close it. It sounded like a woman. Lights from outside occasionally strobed into the car, but eventually even those ceased. The rumble and wind of the car surrounded them, and for his first ride in a muggle conveyance, Lucius found it oddly soothing.

The vehicle stopped with a rocking motion. Doors opened and hands hauled the veela out into a pre-dawn courtyard. Glancing up as he was hustled along Lucius beheld a mansion of monstrous proportions. It even sported a few towers, giving the impression of an elegant castle. He had never seen the place before.

Through the double doors easily the height of three men and they were in a white tiled marble foyer. A cuff to the back of the head sent him to his knees, growling as a boot to his nape forced him further until his forehead grimed the pristine floor. Somebody chuckled and a foot kicked his bunched thigh, hard enough to add another bruise to the motley assortment adorning his translucent skin. He took the hint though and quieted himself. He had learned obedience to violence a long time ago.

“Hello.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it was difficult to hear nuances over the blood roaring through his ears. “You made good time.”

“Thank you, sir. Headmaster Dumbeldore said you wanted delivery by morning.” One of his jailers, he thought to his left. Dumbeldore had wanted him brought here?

“Yes. You may go now. Do give Mr. Fudge my regards, won’t you?”

“Sir, are you certain? The deatheater still has some fight left. He’s still dangerous.”

“I would imagine so, but he is of no threat to me. Gentlemen, Lady, please let me show you out.” The tramp of feet then, Lucius’ neck and shoulders aching at the sudden release of pressure, and the doors opened. Muffled words and the doors closed. Lucius thought of breathing, of forcing air to swell protesting ribs and release. The feathery caress to the tread imprint on his nape made him start.

“Gentle, my silver fox. Sleep. I will care for all of this.”

And surprisingly, he did.

HP HP HP HP HP HP

 

With a sharp inhale of breath Lucius woke. When pale blue eyes opened they first took note of the hand lying near his face. The long, slim fingers fair glowed, the nails neat and trimmed. Clean. Not a stain of dirt or abraded flesh. The attached wrist was equally free of rope burn. Sitting up, he fought down a wave of dizziness and took in the rest of his form.

Someone had stripped him of the tatters of his clothing, cleaned him and healed the insults done to his flesh. Dizziness plagued him still, but he pulled himself from the luxurious trappings of the great bed and tumbled to the floor. The room he’d woken to was as resplendent as the bed that dominated it, but he paid no mind to his gilded surroundings. He wanted out of here. He remembered well his holiday with the aurors and being brought to a mansion. Was this still the place? No matter. The Ministry had brought him here so it was no place he intended to linger.

The door took some looking for, sculpted to blend itself with the bracing walls, but find it he did. To no avail. There was no knob, nor did it budge to pushing. Neatly trapped and he cursed as he cast about for another means of escape.

A curtained window opposite the bed caught his attention, but proved as frustrating. Curtains, glass, but no view beyond but white marble. What new prison had he been delivered to?

“Wake at last, are we?” Soft amusement and Lucius looked slowly to see his newest gaoler.

Tall, impossibly so, but blatant evidence of the magicked cuisine of Hogwarts to produce such a strapping hero after formative years of malnourishment and neglect. Somewhat broad of shoulder and lean of hip, the attractive lines of his figure drew the eye, and lusts, to the entire length of him. The green eyes, however, could ensnare an admirer’s soul, haunted and yet promising eternal hope.

"Potter?" Incredulous, for certain. The last time he had seen the young man he'd been rushing headlong towards his destiny, wand raised and voice strong as he faced down the greatest evil that had assaulted the wizard world in centuries. To see him here, dressed in Muggle pants and shirt shocked the veela. Was Potter so determined to rid the world of his ilk that he would see to Lucius' death personally?

The full mouth quirked. "Yes, Lucius, Harry Potter. How are you feeling?"

Lucius shook his head. "What's going on?"

"Well enough to start testing your tethers? Very well." Potter stepped further into the room and the door closed behind him. "Do you know what I've been doing since I graduated Hogwarts, Lucius?" He didn't wait for a response. "Preparing to face Voldemort, certainly, there's no surprise there, destiny and all, but it's not all I've done. Old Voldy did not rise to power alone, so I also studied his confirmed deatheaters. A vicious, petty lot for the most part. Except for you. Why is that, Lucius?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Potter. And besides, what does it matter? Voldemort and his deatheaters are no more."

"It mattered to me. It still does." The younger man came ever closer, forcing Lucius to retreat with little room to maneuver. “Through my study I formed a very interesting opinion about you. On that final day, did you think no one was watching? Albus and I were not the only ones who noted you never cast a killing curse, or even anything permanently maiming. Not a single confirmed use of any of the deadlier curses in all your service to Voldemort. Severus verified it and so I returned to Voldemort’s last bolt hole to find my proof.”

Backed up against the bed Lucius was startled when the heavy bed curtains billowed up around him. A clever distraction for he never saw Potter move, hands on his naked flesh lifting and throwing him back onto the firm mattress. The lithe veela bounced and scrambled for the headboard. Standing there framed by curtains of red velvet Potter’s verdant gaze swept him in an all too intimate manner.

“I heard rumors of your parentage, but I’d never understood what a veela truly was. Beautiful creatures, more given to mischief than anything. Vulnerable to the lusts of men. There is little history of your mother, Lucius. What happened to her?”

"Leave my mother out of this, Potter," Lucius snarled.

With typical Gryffindor arrogance, Potter plowed forward. "Did she escape not knowing she left behind a son more veela than human? Did she even tell you what being veela meant? That you would most likely go through two puberties, and that the second would force changes?"

No, his mother had never said a word to his heritage, but he couldn't hold her to blame. All he remembered of her was a delicate smell, an exotic perfume of flowers that permeated her rooms. She had been a ghost in his life, fleeing from his father's voice. 'Her human stone' she called her babe, always leaving him to cry in his crib until the house elves would come for him, her maternal instincts crushed by his father's brutality. "She didn't know," he softly replied.

"It must have made you very easy prey for Voldemort. A frightened teenager with no idea to the changes his body was forcing him to, of the cautions he should have taken. If your father had found out, or the other Slytherins? You knew the wizard world's opinion about supernatural creatures. Not human. Not entitled to basic rights. Stupid when most wizard families can trace their ancestry back to some magical creature or other, but that's prejudice for you."

Lucius shuddered, Potter's words tearing down the walls he'd placed about old fears and memories. It had been easy for Voldemort to capture him, foolish kit who hadn't realized his danger until he was forced to kneel before his new master and swear allegiance. He mindlessly clawed at the inside of his arm, remembered pain and humiliation on that fated night and the years to come focused on the hated brand. For most deatheaters it had been a badge of honor, an acknowledgement of their cunning and viciousness. For Lucius all it had ever been was a slave's mark.

“No, Lucius, don’t.” Potter’s breath in his ear, strong arms wrapping around him as his wrists were caught, forcing him to stop. He started at the youth’s proximity and struggled anew, but Potter held him firm, letting him twist and buck, growl and mew until he exhausted what little energy he had. Then, with the veela panting sharply into his neck Potter held out his arm to show him the bloodied scratches he’d left. “There’s no mark, Lucius. You are free of him.”

The young man spoke truth, but the silvery blond numbly shook his head. “I am never free.” Not since his mother had left him, dry eyed and smiling as she finally mastered the wards on Malfoy Manor, never once looking back on the toddler who watched her leave.

“You are free of him. The rest will come.” Soft dry lips pressed to his temple, but Lucius barely noticed.

“No. Never, not ever. He took it and who knows where that bastard buried it. I’ll never be free, not -”

“Shhh, Lucius. Did I not say I would care for everything?” Hands swept back his hair and caressed the length of his spine. “You are more precious to me than all the gold in Gringots. I know Voldemort stole your veela coat and that’s how he forced you to accept his mark. I know he’s kept it all these years. I know everything there is to know about you, Lucius Potter-Malfoy.”

“Potter-Malfoy?” The blond dumbly repeated. “You’ve taken me to spouse?”

“Yes,” the younger man cautiously answered. “It was the only way to get you out of that hole. Fudge and his cronies didn’t care that there was no evidence of you ever killing anyone. And I couldn’t tell them how you’d been forced without revealing you are a veela. I’m sure you know that would have only made things worse. So I used my name to get you out.”

Lucius looked at his fist clenched in the front of Potter’s shirt, the hard flesh beneath warming his chilled fingers. “My consent to marriage was not required?” he hoarsely whispered. Potter felt so warm about him, safe, but he knew the trap for what it was. No filth infested cell, no kiss, but a cage nonetheless and Potter his new master.

“No.” The young man almost sounded apologetic. “The Ministry wanted to brand you, or at least a collar, to register you as a possession, like a house elf or something. Albus went ballistic. I have never seen him lose his temper like that.” Potter carded his waist length hair, his other hand spreading heat from the small of his back. “I insisted on the marriage though it‘s pretty much a secret,” he continued quietly. “The Ministry would not dare pursue the husband of Harry Potter. It was the best protection I could think to give you.”

Was that how he was to think of this? Rather a well fortified nest than a cage? Potter was not done speaking, however, and Lucius unconsciously focused on his mesmerizing voice. “There were conditions to your release, from both sides. You were a deatheater, and while the Ministry agreed to never disclose that to the press, they did insist on a trial of good behavior. Six months to be spent under house arrest here at the Potter Estate. Everyone else believes you are in Azkaban.”

“We are in the muggle world,” Lucius whispered in detached wonder. “I have never been. It makes me feel . . . sick. Dirty. How can they trust me not to kill their precious hero in his sleep, vile deatheater that I am?”

“Yes, we’re outside muggle London. I bought this place after I graduated from Hogwarts. You feel dizzy?” Lucius nodded. “That’s partly from all the healing that was done on you, but also because you are a veela. Magical creatures are not meant to long reside in the muggle world. Albus assured me you’ll adjust though, that your human side will let you adapt.

“As for trusting you, they don’t. When I took over this place, I got special dispensation from the Ministry to perform some rather heavy magic. With the exception of myself and a select few, no magic will work within the estate grounds. That’s a five mile radius. Being they don’t know you’re a veela, and that they’re wizards, they think you are harmless without your wand.”

“And so I am to what?” Lucius sneered. “Learn to be a proper husband to Harry Potter? Service your ne-” The rest was muffled by Potter’s hand.

“You are my husband,” Potter ground out, forcing Lucius to lift his head and meet his angered green eyes. “Not my pet or servant, and I will accept whatever you can give. I expect you to use this time to heal and to learn of what you are.”

His mouth was released, but before he could retort he was dragged from the bed and shoved to his hands and knees before a small chest tucked against the wall, plain and simply adorned with the Hogwart’s crest. A whispered word from Potter and the chest clicked open, the lid slowly rising until it thumped into the wall.

“Severus had to use a restorative potion or two on it, but it should be good as it ever was. Go on, Lucius,” the man commanded, “it is yours after all.”

Was it his? The silver haired man had not seen his veela coat since before his new husband was born. Sometimes he’d thought it destroyed or the purity of his veela blood a childish dream. Wishes only, of course, because the pain never faded, the ache of being only half of what he was never left. To see the silver gleam of his fur folded in the chest caught his breath and he closed his eyes to the sight.

“Lucius?” He’d stared at it too long without moving, arousing Potter’s suspicions. The black haired man knelt alongside him, perceptive gaze seeing too well all of his fears. “My fox, did we do this too soon? You don’t have to take it up. If you want to wait, that’s fine. It’s not going anywhere.”

“I-” Oh, how he wanted his coat, his beautiful coat, but he couldn’t move, was afraid to breathe too deeply, as though the smallest twitch would wake him back in that cell, or worse, back at Voldemort’s side. Too long had he been without and he trembled violently at the enormity of what lay before him.

“Curse me a thrice damned fool,” Potter muttered, roping out a long arm to pull Lucius up and into his side. “We can do this tomorrow or the next day. It doesn’t matter. Whenever you’re ready, fox.”

“No!” Lucius wrenched free, refusing to leave his coat, afraid to lose sight lest it somehow be snatched away. As before, Potter’s efforts to restrain him were miniscule and the veela cursed the muggle world and the Ministry that exiled him to it.

“Shhh, Lucius, don’t fight me.” Large calloused hands all over his person, possessive in their lingering, and the blond squeezed his eyes shut. “You will have your coat.”

Potter freed one hand then, only to return it clutching a fistful of bluish white fur. He draped Lucius’ veela skin about his shoulders and the foreign feel of it broke the man’s last thread of control. He sobbed, uncaring of the arms that lifted him back into the bed and hugged him close. He cried into Potter’s flesh until he ran dry of tears, fingers tearing at the man’s clothing with a mindless need to scratch and claw. Potter held him throughout, crooning nonsense and petting him through the weight of his coat. Eventually Lucius quieted, his unseemly hiccupping and whimpering muffled by Potter’s shoulder.

Lucius never took note of once more falling asleep.

HP HP HP HP HP HP

 

“Harry, my dear boy, how are things going?” Albus’ head appeared in his fireplace, a disconcerting yet familiar sight after these last few years. The Headmaster visited him in his study and Harry took a moment to glance into the mirror at his elbow before responding. The glass showed not himself but Lucius, curled safely asleep on his bed, wrapped in his veela coat so only his pale slim legs and curtain of hair could be seen.

“As well as to be expected, Albus,” Harry replied. “Lucius woke up today.”

“Ah,” the old wizard chuckled, “things must have gone fairly well since you look in one piece.”

“I told him most everything he needed to know. Including our marriage. I’m not sure if I made a mistake, but I gave him his veela coat.”

“Hmmm, I’m sure you did what you felt was right, my boy. Did he change?”

“No. I think our big achievement was not having a nervous breakdown.” Harry shook his head, doubt assailing him anew. “He’s been hurting for so long, sir, I don’t see how he’s going to be able to trust me enough to make this work. The Ministry never made a dent in his armor, yet I undid him in a few minutes with honest kindness!”

“Because he has rarely known kindness, Harry. Remember that. Your childhoods were not so different and among wizard kind, your ages are barely apart.”

“Yes, but my mother died protecting me. His abandoned him!”

“She was a desperate woman. Your gentleness will disarm Lucius, but remember what he is. If you do not control the situation, he will, and Lucius is not stable enough for that responsibility.”

Harry frowned, but nodded in understanding. He’d read every thing he could lay hands on about veelas, from their history and physiology, to the dynamics of their relationships. He probably knew more about veelas than Lucius did. Regardless of the sex of the mated couple, or even the species of the mate, for a veela there had to be a clear alpha and beta. For all their capriciousness, or maybe because of it, veela needed structure.

“I understand, sir. Could you warn Sirius off for a week or two?” While Harry loved his godfather he was also familiar with his many flaws and weaknesses. A deep seated dislike for Slytherins was one of those. A personal hate for Lucius was another. Harry imagined it was going to be challenge enough to win Lucius heart without Sirius spewing venom about. He hadn’t even told his godfather of his plans to rescue the veela and seduce him. Like everyone else, Sirius believed Lucius was still in prison, awaiting his final sentencing.

“Of course, my boy, of course. Young love needs time to its own.” A knowing chuckle and a wink, and Albus was gone.

“It needs more than time,” Harry said to himself, troubled gaze returning to the mirror. Six months seemed an exorbitant amount of time to consummate a marriage, but after today he wished he had asked for more. Oh, how he loved his soul scarred veela and wished for nothing more than his love returned, but he knew to confess his feelings now would only earn Lucius’ derision.

Stroking his fingers down the mirror’s cool surface he watched the blond arch into the invisible touch, even asleep greedy for any affection. When Harry had first met Lucius Malfoy he’d been too young to understand the rush of heat that had made his head swim. The ensuing years and his various confrontations with the arrogant deatheater, however, had made him realize his lust. The man exuded sensuality. Harry now knew it was his veela pheromones, but at the time all the hormonal teenager had wanted to do was push him over the nearest surface and shag him senseless. In all honesty, he still did. Though he would never tell his husband, he had first begun investigating with the suspicion that the man was exercising some spell on him. 

There was no spell, or if there was, it was a very powerful and subtle one, because the deeper Harry delved into the exotic deatheater’s life, the more enamored he became. The more obsessed. Discovering Lucius’ veela heritage had vindicated his desires and nebulous theories. When he had brought his ideas to Albus, the Headmaster had been understandably doubtful, but Harry’s attention had been caught by the other man in the office. Severus Snape, deatheater turned spy, had not looked the least surprised. In fact, he’d looked blank. Harry’s hard stare had drawn Albus’ attention and more than the young auror’s words, Snape’s lack of expression had convinced him. Lucius Malfoy was serving Voldemort against his will.

Of course, that didn’t mean they could count on Lucius’ aid. So long as Voldemort possessed the blond veela’s coat Lucius was bound to serve him. But for Harry it gave him back his life. After Hogwarts all he had done was train to defeat Voldemort, with no thought given to what was to come after. It was his destiny, but no one ever told him what came after his destiny. So quite on his own he decided what came after was Lucius. It occupied his time, thinking of the future and what would need to be done to see to Lucius’ happiness. Most of all he found it gave him hope and the courage to face the enemy he’d run from for years, knowing there was a life of his own choosing waiting for him.

The house and more he purchased with his inheritance. Lucius would want for nothing if it was in Harry’s power to give it to him. And as The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, there was little outside his power.

Giving Lucius his freedom was not one of those, however, but with time and trust, Harry prayed it could be exchanged for love.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

Lucius woke to the extraordinary feeling of being wrapped within his coat. He’d been snugly tucked in, by Potter the blond realized, a musky cocoon of warmth and security tempting him back to sleep. He struggled to wakefulness, though, remembering he was married and trapped in the muggle world.

The warm smell of food helped. Tumbling from the bed, hampered by his inability to let go of his coat, the veela was surprised by the door’s quiet opening at his approach. Down a spacious hall and a wide spiraling grand staircase, Lucius barely paid mind to his surroundings, blind to the gold furnishings and brilliant colors as his nose led him to the source of those delicious odors.

Pushing open a final door he beheld a kitchen to rival Hogwart’s in size. Familiar conveniences and muggle contraptions stood together in chrome glory, and the blond stared agape at his surroundings for a long minute before he realized the eyes upon him. Harry Potter was sitting calmly at one end of a long, high marble topped table, his breakfast spread out before him ignored in favor of watching the veela who had interrupted his meal. For all its gleaming sterility the kitchen held an air of warmth, seeming to silently bid Lucius to explore its numerous drawers and shelves, to discover its stored treasures. He held himself still, however, uncertain of his welcome.

“Come here, Lucius,” Potter invited, setting aside his utensils to beckon the older man closer. “Did you sleep well? Hungry?”

Lucius approached with caution, eyes darting about until he came up to the table and noted its lack. “There is only one chair.” And he with no magic to create another.

“Yes.” Potter smiled. “I’m usually the only one here. Come, we should get used to sharing, should we not?” Strong, slender hands held out for him and the blond frowned, realizing the young man’s intent.

“I will not,” he scowled, well aware he barely presented a formidable presence dressed only in his coat but keeping hold of what he could of his dignity.

“Would you stand and watch only then? Should I toss food your way, like scraps to a dog?” Potter’s tone was teasing and he showed a handy trait to arch one eyebrow.

Lucius bristled at that, clutching his coat tighter. “I would have my own plate.”

“There is none,” Potter dismissed. “The elves are about other chores and I’ll not interrupt their routine.”

The bastard. His stomach rumbled and he inched his way closer, eyes on the pillowy mounds of eggs and the neat stacks of bacon and hot cakes. There was syrup there too, and warm rolls, juice and what looked like proper tea, such amounts of it he barely made a token protest when he was lifted, coat and all, and deposited onto Harry Potter’s lap. An arm about his waist and the other hand lifted the tea cup to his clasp, breath warming his neck as Potter leaned in to nuzzle him.

“Go on, it’s bottomless.” So he did, great gulps of it until his husband tempted him with a buttered roll, followed quickly by a folded piece of bacon. Delicious, all of it, and he unconsciously began to roughly purr, relaxing further when Potter made no move to fondle him. His coat slipped from his shoulders as he reached for Potter’s abandoned utensils, helping himself to eggs and syrup sodden cakes, eating his fill until his stomach fair groaned. So many days without food and he knew he should eat with more care lest he sicken, but he didn’t want to stop until a hand captured his.

“Enough, my fox. Leave some room for lunch.” With great reluctance he set down the fork and knife, and accepted a glass of pumpkin juice in their stead. Potter hugged him loosely, arms lost amidst the folds of his coat, and Lucius was surprised at what comfort he felt, the security of the youth’s warmth at his back. Poisoned by the food, no doubt, to entertain such notions, but he was too lethargic of a sudden to care. Surrendering the temporarily empty glass to the youth’s steadier hand the blond blinked slowly at the hand that was presently mapping his chest. Or was it moving at all?

“I think it’s back to bed with you, fox. Finding your way down here and gorging yourself must have sapped what energy you’ve gained.” Presumptuous brat.

“I do not want to sleep,” Lucius stated clearly. “I want pants.”

“Just pants?” Potter sounded very earnest, enough so that the older man twisted about to fix him with an assessing glare.

“Sod off, you insufferably-” the rest of Lucius’ tirade was ended by Potter’s mouth taking his, invading tongue lapping away the words that had filled his mouth until all that was left was the taste and sensation of Harry Potter. The man kissed like it was a pre-requisite at Hogwarts, skillful and demanding, his one hand tangling in Lucius’ silver hair while the other stayed secure about his waist, large palm sending down pleasant warmth from where it rested on his stomach. Utterly possessed, and the former Deatheater growled at that, biting at tongue and lips until he drew blood.

Potter did not throw him to the floor for his viciousness, nor strike him though he tensed for the blow. Tightening his grip on Lucius’ luxurious mane until he arched helplessly, the sharp pain fair promising imminent baldness, Potter licked his bloodied lips and returned the favor in kind. He bit into the veela’s bottom lip hard, rending tender skin, their blood and salvia a mingled tang Lucius whimpered for, painfully aroused. Tiny, nipping kisses traced down to his jaw and the brunette bit again, hard enough to draw blood and to force a startled cry from his husband.

“Do you like that, Lucius?” Potter purred into his ear before biting the lobe. The hand on his abdomen snaked lower and grasped his leaking arousal with rough confidence. The dual sensations made the veela growl and writhe in his husband’s lap, helpless but to throw his head back and sharply pant. Long, strong fingers stroked his length, his pre-come slicking Potter’s grip and sparing him the dry scrape of Quiditch calluses. A light, firm stroke that kept the veela mewling shamelessly, desperate to reach climax. “Do you like being dominated?”

No! But he couldn’t find the words to deny the man, not with the waves of pleasure reaching a crescendo within him. He clawed at Potter’s clothed chest, expensive fabric ripping under his hardened, lengthened nails. His husband didn’t punish him for that either but to increase the tempo of his strokes.

“Come for me, silver fox. Show me how much I own you.”

“Nnnn,” Lucius clenched his teeth on his scream of climax, hips bucking helplessly as he shot over Harry’s hand and onto the coat. He could not recall ever coming so hard and he sobbed at the force of it.

“Beautiful,” Potter whispered, his touch gentling as he eased Lucius back down from the pinnacle. The veela could feel the heated throb of a man’s erection beneath him, but his husband made no move to satisfy his own needs. The aggressive dominance faded, to be replaced once more by calming control. “I could watch you find your pleasure for hours.”

Lucius wanted to retort, but he could not struggle free of the lassitude Potter’s petting swept through him. He buried his face in his husband’s neck, too confused and emotionally jumbled to retain the haughtiness of his cold façade. Embarrassingly grateful when Potter made no more mention of his weakness and let the quiet lull him to sleep.

Some minutes later Lucius woke to Potter gently shifting him about, putting his coat to rights as he stood them both up. “Let’s get you dressed and then I want to show you the library. I’ve a feeling you will like it.”

HP HP HP HP HP HP

The ornate double doors opened on their own, soundlessly gliding back to reveal one of the largest wizarding libraries outside of Hogwarts. Following behind his husband, Lucius had to admit he was impressed. By magical means the cavernous room stretched upward of six stories, floating bookshelves taking up most of the space, though some was given over to desks and their accompanying chairs.

Potter stopped near an anchored desk, dark hair falling into his eyes as he bent to lift a book from the floor. As soon as it left the floor it floated on its own, until with a gentle push it drifted off to find its own shelf. “Whatever subject you want to read about, just say, ‘Library’, and then the subject. When you’re done with the book just let it go.”

“Are these all wizarding books?”

“For the most part. I think Shakespeare is up there somewhere. You might like his work. There are no restricted sections.”

“Have you read all of them?”

Potter laughed. “Merlin, no! Many of them were gifts. The Ministry gave me most of it, to study to defeat Riddle. My Dark Arts section is larger than Hogwarts and takes up most of the fourth floor. Really, the room is still under construction. Hermione thinks I should add stairs, but right now if I want to browse, I use my broom.” He flushed, probably afraid that Lucius would disapprove, but the older man ignored him. After a tense silence, Potter continued. “I brought you here for a reason, obviously. Library, veela.”

Lucius started at the subject of Potter’s request, then stared in amazement as well over two dozen books floated down to the desk. They stacked themselves in neat piles, one on top of the other, though one near the bottom complained of being squished.

“Every book that references or deals with veelas,” Potter explained.

“Have you read these because of me?” The idea was alien yet tempting, that Potter had wanted an understanding of his world this badly. Flattering, intoxicating, and somehow laced into the sudden surge of emotions, jealousy. His old master had forbidden him from learning of his heritage; declared him foul and tainted, barely deserving of Voldemort’s generosity in sparing his life. He was a Malfoy and Slytherin, and that was all the world was to know him as. Not even Narcissa, when his hand had been sold to her venerated family, had ever known. The woman had died not knowing, honorably taking her own life when Potter had defeated Voldemort once and for all. Lucius’ only regret in thought of his late wife was missing the opportunity to tell her she’d bedded a half-breed and borne his spawn.

“Lucius?” A warm hand touched his cheek and the veela unconsciously leaned into it as he lifted his gaze to his husband’s. Potter smiled then, and leaned the short distance to kiss him softly. “I read all these books and more for you, luv. I wanted to understand, to be your source of comfort. With Hagrid and sometimes Remus, I traveled across Europe talking with veelas. I wanted to meet your every need. Two of the books are actual biographies and one is a copy of the first history written on the species. That one and others have never been read by non-veelas before, donated in the hope you could take what you could from them.”

“This is,” Lucius fumbled, unfamiliar with such generosity and ill-equipped to appropriately respond.

“Merlin, I love that look,” Harry breathed. The wizard kissed him then, a possessive invasion that Lucius shamefully surrendered to, unresisting to the hands that clutched him tightly to the other man’s hard length. Was it submission to his fate or desire for more that made him suck on the tongue playfully twisting against his own? Harry moaned his approval.

With a final swipe against his bottom lip Harry broke away, panting hard himself. “Love that look more.” Fingers ghosted over his face and Lucius struggled not to flinch. This was legally his new master and his touch was far more pleasant than the others the veela had been forced to bear. Shamefully, a growing part of him enjoyed the gentle yet possessive care. Potter was not so unpleasant to look at and while he obviously desired Lucius’ form he was willing to exchange access for mutual pleasure.

“Still too soon,” the brunette said after a long minute, reluctantly pulling away. Taking a moment to compose himself Potter gestured at the books. “There is stuff I must do this morning so you can occupy yourself here. After lunch I will show you the rest of the house and the gardens.”

It was like being a student again, but Lucius only nodded as Potter left him alone with the impressive stack of veela texts. To himself the blond could admit he was more than eager to get at those books. The truth of who and what he was, waiting for him in neat stacks. Whatever Potter demanded of him would be small pittance to feel whole again after twenty-five years of degradation and suffering.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

The Velvet Sleeve, Chapter 3.

 

Thankfully Lucius was granted his own chair at dinner, their meal laid out in an elegantly intimate room. The table was small, allowing their feet to touch if either stretched their legs, which was something the blond tried to avoid and Potter persisted in. The young Auror asked him about his reading, a relatively safe topic they stayed on through the course of the meal until Lucius started to feel himself droop. Truly, it was only yesterday by his reckoning that he had been starving in a Ministry cell. His stomach was a swollen walnut pressing painfully on his other organs and he regretfully set his utensils down. It was irrational, but a part of him feared this whole day was little more than a pre-death hallucination. That any moment he was going to wake to his final Kiss and he fisted the white coat spilling over his lap. Of course, in his wildest imaginings he had never fancied himself married to Harry Potter.

“Ehmm,” Potter hummed, rubbing his own stomach, “I’m stuffed. Time for bed, I think.”

Lucius blinked, glancing to the clock he could see on the nearby side table. “It is barely past nine.”

“I did not say I was going to bed. You’re still recovering, fox. I’m sure you’d like a bath, as well. A nice, hot soak?”

A bath? That caught his attention like nothing else the man could have offered. While his person had certainly been cleaned since his arrival, he had no recollection of it and so still felt the stain of his imprisonment. Being allowed to properly cleanse himself would be most appreciated and he cautiously nodded. “An opportunity to bathe sounds agreeable.”

Potter’s mouth quirked. “So glad you approve.”

A hot bath was indeed arranged, in a well appointed chamber located off of the chamber he’d woken in. A house elf saw to filling the large claw footed tub and then vanished with his clothes. Sweeping his long hair up off his neck with a clasp he located on the vanity Lucius eased his thinned frame into the hot water with a low exhalation of breath. A floral oil had been added to the bath, swirling lazily about his head. Lucius sank down until only his shoulders rose above the water, resting his head back on the cushion of a folded towel. Clean. He didn’t even notice when his eyes drifted shut, drifting lazily towards sleep for an indefinite time.

The softest of touches slid across his collarbones and up to his neck, easing his head into the water. Feeling his hair freed Lucius murmured a complaint, but a deep voice reassured him. Nothing to fear here. Hands massaged his scalp, gently tugging at the yards of platinum. The sharp scent of flowers grew. Slitting his eyes open as his head was tilted back to carefully wash out the shampoo Lucius met luminous green eyes. 

“There you are,” Potter husked, bending down to deliver an upside down kiss before he straightened up and helped Lucius out of the bath. With chilled dignity the pale blond allowed the younger man to wrap his hair in an appropriately dark green towel and then accepted his hand in stepping out of the bath. He’d been stripped and violated by the Ministry with no recourse but to endure their cruel touching while incarcerated and Voldemort had similarly degraded him throughout his years of enslavement. This, this gentle quiet attention of Potter meticulously toweling him dry was near as painful, but for vastly different injury. The man seemed reverent and Lucius closed his eyes. He felt scalded.

“A robe, Lucius,” Potter helped him into the Slytherin colored robe and then handed him the veela fur that had been carefully folded on its own stool next to the tub. He felt a scared child, but he could not help clutching at his coat, emboldened by its weight to follow Potter back into the bedroom. No matter what the Auror had said he well knew the man could take his coat back with the littlest provocation. With no wand and weakened by the muggle world, how could Lucius stop him? He didn’t even remember how to put his coat on! It was a dead thing in his arms, a memory of a freedom he’d never had.

The brunette guided him to sit before the mirror at a dressing table and unwound the towel from his hair. A brush was retrieved from one of the dresser’s many drawers and Potter set to working free the few tangles that had managed their way into the curtain of hair.

“Amazing how manageable all this hair is,” Potter softly laughed, gathering the fall at Lucius’ nape to more easily guide the brush from the crown of his scalp to the very ends some feet distant. Never having had anyone touch his hair in such a manner Lucius was disturbed to find himself relaxing into the low backed chair, eyes languidly blinking as he fought to keep his wits about him. His arms tightened about his coat.

“It is charmed,” he whispered, slitting his eyes open to see Potter smile and nod in the mirror‘s reflection, wholly absorbed in his self-appointed task. By the time the man was satisfied with the sheen and drape of Lucius’ mane the veela was again nearly asleep. Lips pressed beneath his ear as he was carefully lifted and carried to bed, but he was too tired to rouse himself. Gentle tugging unfurled his coat and then tucked it in about his supine figure. It was only a few hours later that the bed would dip under the weight of another body, but Lucius was still safe within his coat.

Though there was no sunlight to rouse him Lucius still stirred with the cresting of the morning, sleepily nuzzling into the warmth he curled into. For the first time in too long he actually felt the swollen weight of a morning erection and ghosted a lazy hand down. A knuckle stroked the sharp edge of his jaw, drawing him to tilt his face into a sweet morning kiss. Was this Harry, was he sweet? Fingers touched him beneath his coat, rubbing over the head of his penis, and his pleasure did not retreat. 

“It’s okay, fox,” Potter whispered in his sleep roughened voice. “It’s okay to take a little for yourself.” A hand more calloused than his own encouraged him to fist his erection, to stroke it from root to head and the blond groaned. “That’s it. Take it. Does that feel good? Yeah, that’s it, that’s it.”

Lucius couldn’t believe he was masturbating with Potter watching, but he hadn’t touched himself in years. Not with the memory of Voldemort’s clammy, claw-like hand squeezing his flesh. When he glanced down all he saw was his own white hand and Harry’s tan one, warm and feeling so very good. Yessss, and then Harry fingered his sensitive piss slit, over and over, forcing him over the edge. He came into the brunette’s hand with a helpless moan, eyes squeezing shut.

HP HP HP HP HP HP 

Entering his husband’s study after hearing the quiet permission to do so Lucius carried the two books he’d brought with him to Harry’s desk and gently, near reverently, set them upon the polished wood. Lucius was familiar with the look of the documents Harry was reading, but Harry made no effort to hide the Auror reports.

“Hey,” Harry greeted with his warm Gryffindor smile. “I thought I was going to have to drag you out of the library.”

“I have questions,” Lucius replied, too agitated to bother with pleasantries. “These books, they are too graphic. I cannot believe persecuted magical creatures gave them to you, their persecutor, a wizard.”

The dark green eyes watched him carefully for what felt an eon before Harry slowly nodded. “I did not come to them as a wizard. When my thoughts turned to you I thought it was a spell and took my suspicions to Dumbledore. He confessed there was another reason for my interest.

“He explained that veela only mate for life with other veela. They may marry a muggle or wizard, father children, but that bond is not so resolute as the mating instincts between veela. They will abandon their old life, no matter how content they were, to join their destined mate. It is what happened to my grandmother and mother. My grandfather left them when he met his veela mate and my grandmother re-married to Theodore Evans. My mother’s true father was never spoken about, but veela blood breeds true.”

Lucius’ quick mind leapt onto what Harry did not say, that his mother Lily was a veela. Like himself, which made her son quarter. But still veela.

“You are my mate.”

Harry did not exactly look overjoyed, but he smiled. “Yes, Lucius. It’s why I couldn’t let anything happen to you. And before you ask, yes, I have my own coat. Dumbledore and Remus Lupin helped me through my first change.”

He was married and mated to Harry Potter. That a month ago his prayers had been for a quick death to now have his life so irrevocably changed made his head ache. His mate. He couldn’t remember leaving the study, whether he walked or ran, but he needed out. His chest felt too small, his heart struggling to beat, and he stumbled to his knees on the cobblestone path of the garden. It was as far as his freedom extended.

Married.

Mated.

Lucius threw back his head and screamed. The books he’d been plied with all spoke about the perfection of a veela mating, that it was a near joining of souls, but Lucius rejected all of it. He was caged and trapped, once again victim to his heritage. His father had cursed him to a deatheater destiny and his mother had provided the means of forcing him to it. Now he was enslaved to Harry be dammed Potter, his past and blood his shackles. From one master to another and he screamed out his frustration at the injustice. His father, Voldemort, and now Potter. His whole life he was destined to be someone’s slave.

When his voice gave out he collapsed over his knees, clawing at stones with his blunt nails. He wanted out. He wanted to leave everything and just exist somewhere, no one and nothing anyone would care about. Just strip himself of every responsibility and escape into anonymity.

“Lucius, stop that,” Potter snapped, kneeling in front of him to grab at his hands. “Hurting yourself is not going to make any of this go away.”

The blond surprised himself by growling at the younger veela, but his mate ignored his struggles and protests, manhandling him onto his back with his hands pinned beneath Potter’s straddling knees. Leaning over him Potter forced his head back and bit his throat, hard enough to make him choke and gasp. More surprising, though, was the immediate sense of calm Lucius felt, his body relaxing of its own volition. The pain of the bite faded as Potter laved the mark, licking up Lucius’ throat and then to his mouth. It wasn’t in the blond to protest the leisurely kiss, Potter’s hands as gentle and coaxing as his tongue.

When Lucius didn’t feel he had a solid bone left in his body Potter sat back, smiling softly. “There. Feel better now? I know you feel trapped, Luce, but please believe that I love you. Do you think you’re alone in this confusion? I struggled for months accepting I was veela, and then that I had a mate. I felt too young. That it was totally unfair that I didn’t get to sow more of my wild oats.”

Lucius had not thought of that. Potter was barely into his twenties. To a wizard’s lifespan he was barely a child and veela lived even longer. Besides having to take on saving the wizarding world the boy had had to deal with knowing he was mated to an enemy. An enemy he had gone to great lengths to save, and not just from the Ministry’s retribution. Lucius panted under the sudden surge of his emotions and Potter returned to nuzzling his throat to calm him.

“Why don’t we get to choose?” Lucius whispered. “Why are we trapped into every act?” The boy had done so much, he was at least owed the truth of his feelings. “Since birth I have been controlled at every turn and I am sick of it. I want my freedom.”

Potter was quiet for several minutes then, buried into Lucius’ neck and seemingly content to stay there. Kisses trailed up to his finely arched ear and fingers traced his mouth. “Don’t you see this is freedom, Lucius? The outside world cannot enter here. There are walls to keep them out. Please don’t think of our bond as enslavement. It is assurance, a confidence that to one person in the world you are everything. How many people can honestly make such a claim? It’s liberating. You gave me the confidence to face Voldemort. It was for you that I fought. No one has cared about me, Harry, not the Boy Who Lived, since my parents died. No one has cared beyond my destiny to save them. When I accepted that you were my mate . . . I had doubted I was capable of such devotion never having known it. For the first time in my life . . . I don’t right know how to describe it. I felt I could love. That I was free to love because you were mine.”

Was that liberation? Pale blue eyes stared up into dark green in open confusion. “I do not know such love. Narcissa was arranged. I have never . . .”

“I know. And I’m not asking you to accept in a matter of days what took me months,” Harry answered. “You are still healing.” His hand slid down Lucius’ trimly muscled chest. “In here. We’re not going to undo years of abuse so quickly, but I will not allow you to hurt yourself. Scream and shout, growl at me all you want, but no physical abuse.”

And that was how things stood. Lucius refused to acknowledge the little thrill of pleasure he felt at Potter’s protectiveness, but he did not hurt himself again. He spent his days reading, in the library or the garden, left to his own except for meals he was not allowed to skip. A house elf always reminded him and the one time he forgot Potter came and collected him. Every night they slept in the same bed and Lucius did not protest Potter’s embrace so long as he was allowed to keep hold of his coat. Several nights Harry pleasured him with his hands and mouth, somehow knowing when the blond veela would be receptive to his touch. The boy always seemed to know, taking Lucius in hand over lunch or in his study, working Lucius’ pleasure with a confidence that left him weak and shaking afterward. Not once did Potter force him to touch his own interest though he would freely ejaculate after he’d satisfied his mate, burning gaze solely focused on Lucius’ pale form. This too Lucius became used to and he started to watch Harry in turn, secretly pleased his interest seemed to fuel his mate’s passion. Not once did Harry try to copulate with him and Lucius gradually relaxed into what was given.

It was through this trust that Lucius began to spend more of his evenings with Harry in his study. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix and a highly placed auror Potter’s desk was always buried in correspondence and reports. The boy was in the thick of trying to win equal rights for Dark Creatures such as his friend Lupin , and themselves Lucius realized, while also keeping up with his other duties. 

Ensconced on the study’s rather comfortable couch, Lucius barely took note of the changes affected around his claimed area. A low table moved closer. A floor lamp placed at one end to afford better reading light. A quill and ink with an oddly bound sheaf of blank paper to take notes found itself onto the table. The additions were so quietly done and behaved so unobtrusively that Lucius’ inclusion in the room seemed to come about quite naturally. So much so the blond did not blink when Potter casually handed him a report on the recent increase of migration in the werewolf population.

“Is it known why they’re heading to Denmark?” Lucius asked once he’d finished the report.

“No, and the Ministry wants nothing to do with it,” Harry answered without looking up from the stack of papers he was shuffling. “The Order wants to send Remus to check things out.”

“A team of aurors should go as well,” Lucius said, his suggestion prompting his mate to glance up.

“Why? No werewolf is going to talk to aurors.”

Lucius pursed his lips. “They may not know the truth to why they are traveling to Denmark. The offer of asylum could be a trap. Aurors acting in an official capacity will focus the local government on them and allow Lupin greater freedom.”

“A decoy?” Potter smiled, obviously liking the idea.

“Yes, though they might learn the truth themselves.” That of course depended on the aurors, but that wasn’t Lucius’ concern.

The next evening there was a stack of reports waiting on the table when Lucius wandered in, a silently discreet invitation. It was his choice to ignore the reports and he did at first, reading his book for a good two hours before his curiosity got the best of him. None of the reports concerned deatheater activities or anything that might remind him of his old life. They weren’t even all interesting, one having to do with zoning. Potter was obviously sounding out what interested him.

Lucius made notes on each report for the next several evenings. At his desk Potter was shuffling his mountains into new arrangements and the blond could easily guess what they were: what Lucius could look at, what he could not, and what required immediate attention since that stack was the smallest and seen to first.

There was more than Ministry reports, of course, the piles of mail having to pick themselves up from the floor several times a night from when Potter would angrily and gleefully shove them off. Mail floated about the desk like lazy moths and grew daily in volume since Potter seemed to open none of it.

“Potter,” Lucius said after setting aside the zoning report he’d saved till last, “do you ever answer your mail?”

His mate’s brow furrowed at the question. “Not most of it, no. It’s all fan mail and requests for interviews I don’t have the time to give.” He batted at one of the letters. “They all want The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort and I frankly don’t have time to be him.”

Nor do you want to be, Lucius knew, but having been a politician he also knew the importance of pleasing the public. Potter needed a press assistant and Lucius was game enough to give it a go.

“Would you allow me to answer your mail?” Seeing his husband’s surprise the blond rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to write books to these people. Just short ‘thank you’s.”

“I don’t want to thank them, I want them to leave me alone,” Harry grumbled.

“Well, that’s unlikely to happen,” Lucius snapped back. “You want the power to change things, then you need to stay in the public’s attention. No one is going to listen to a recluse shacked up with his deatheater husband.”

“Ex-deatheater,” Harry shot back, “and you’re welcome to read and answer all the fan mail you want. Though no,” he frowned at the stack precariously holding to a corner of his desk, “some of the stuff is dangerous. One I opened had some love potion powder inside. Dumbest attempt ever since what I sneezed on was my coffee cup. Couldn’t let go of the thing for days.”

Lucius softly laughed at Harry’s disgusted expression. If he had his wand he knew of a spell that would illuminate the harmful missives. As he didn’t he simply told Harry instead.

“Good suggestion,” Harry said, pulling his wand and quickly casting the spell. A good number of the mail glowed a bright blue and those Potter flooed away, but the rest floated themselves to Lucius’ table, shuffling up into neat stacks. Proper parchment appeared next to them, magicked to seal and address itself.

It was months of unanswered mail, but Lucius found most of it pathetically amusing. Letter after letter praising Harry Potter as the savior of the world and gradually Lucius began to appreciate why Harry had retreated to this estate in the muggle world. The thousands of letters painted a frightening picture of god-like idolization. Not just in the British Isles either. There were post marks from as far away as South Africa and Lucius wondered if there was one place in the world his mate’s status did not precede him.

No place but here and as Lucius wrote politely brief personalized notes of acknowledgement and thanks he realized Harry was as trapped here as he was. That this was what he meant about the walls keeping the world out. It was only here he was free to shuffle around in his worn muggle clothing and bare feet. Free to act and behave as he liked without the entire world watching.

And the only person he had invited inside was Lucius.

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

White Coat, Chapter 4. 

Five weeks from when he was first brought to his new home Lucius stared up at the canopy over their bed and quietly said, “Tomorrow I want to put my coat on.”

From beside him Harry sat up. “Are you sure, Luce? There is no need to rush.”

Lucius met his concerned eyes resolutely. “I am certain I will never fully heal until I do.” It was the truth. There was a gap, a void he could feel separating his human and veela selves. He didn’t feel complete and he was confident he wouldn’t until he changed.

“Alright,” Harry reluctantly agreed. “Tomorrow after breakfast we’ll try.”

For this morning, for the first time, Lucius saw Harry’s own veela coat. It was a beautiful reddish black and looked much larger than Lucius’ own. Harry had chosen a room on the ground floor that looked to be used for storage, its hard wood floors and unadorned walls unrelieved by any furniture. At their entrance a large chest appeared in the center of the room and from this Harry withdrew his coat.

“Remus helped me through my first change. I’d felt feverish for days before. After that, for the next few times, until I learned to shift, it was easier to do when I was excited. Angry or upset. Or aroused.” As he spoke he transfigured the now empty chest into a large pillow, big enough to accommodate them both. Kneeling on the pillow Harry held out his hand. “Come here, my fox.”

Lucius frowned at the curl of anger he felt at thinking of someone else arousing his mate. He didn’t like the implication, but shoved the feelings aside to consider later. Eyeing the pillow the blond doubted Harry meant to spark his temper. Over the last month he had learned his mate’s touch and let him help him out of his robe, revealing his pale nude form beneath. He did not flinch once, expertly conditioned to arch into Harry’s firm strokes and hard pinches. Nearly every night he had been taught to this pleasure and he clutched desperately at his coat as Harry quickly brought him to the edge of bliss.

Only to knock him down. Again and again his mate teased him to climax only to deny him. Lucius writhed, teeth cutting into his lip as he cried for release. Sweat dripped from his shivering limbs and he gulped in lungfuls of air. “Please, Harry, please,” he begged. His balls were trying to draw up, but Harry had them in a hard grip, squeezing and yanking them down until Lucius wailed. Pleasure, pain, he could feel himself stretching to breaking between the two extremes. His awareness shrank to that stretch, that agonizing bridge between human and veela, father and mother, past and future, until he screamed. Shrank until he touched the other side and his world exploded.

It hurt. Hurt worse than any curse Voldemort had ever cast and he went a little mad from it. So long, over twenty years, and his veela side struck out with angered vengeance. His human mind, his reason and logic, was burned away. He became what he had been for years: a neglected, suffering animal. He had no awareness beyond his need to voice his pain and he howled, clawed hands gouging the floor and walls, leaving bloody disfigured paw prints behind.

//No.// A large body barreled into him, knocking him into a hard roll that fetched him against the far wall. From across the room a black veela snorted at him. //You are not to hurt yourself.//

Too far gone to understand the human words Lucius snarled and attacked. The other veela met his charge and the two grappled the breadth of the room. Though Lucius had rage fueling his attack he was not a match to the heavier, more experienced veela. Teeth bit his nape and he went limp with a soft whine, unresisting as he was wrestled up onto his haunches. The larger veela mounted him in a show of dominance and claiming, establishing himself as the alpha. A few quick thrusts and then he pulled out, though he did not let go.

Held tightly to the other, the white veela slowly calmed. The rage, contained for too long, slowly cooled, helped along by his alpha’s comforting purr. He wasn’t alone and somehow that helped. Before he had been lonely and frightened, but he gradually remembered he was safe. Here with Harry no one could hurt him and to the veela that was more important than any perceptions of freedom. He was Lucius Malfoy-Potter and here, for the first time in his forty plus years, he knew comfort and safety.

Curled on their sides the two veela remained together for several hours. Harry purred and cleaned Lucius’ fur, scent marking him as he took away the pain. The blond felt almost disconnected, hazily drifting while newly re-discovered parts of himself settled back into place. Harry occasionally licked his face and after a few hours the white veela licked back.

Rolling into a crouch Lucius watched Harry scratch his chest. The black veela was larger than himself, though with less hair. Roughly humanoid felines, veela could stand upright or move about on all fours, looking something like a fantastical imagining of a cross between a fox and a cat. Lucius knew from his studying that veela could shift from human, humanoid and full beast at will. Harry had pointed human ears but Lucius could feel his own twitching from atop his head. Distractedly swishing the floor behind him Harry’s tail was long and short haired. Lucius preferred his own, elegant and full, complimenting the heavier fur on his fore arms and legs. While Harry’s coat certainly looked exotic, shimmering with a red reflection as the light struck him, Lucius decided he was prettier. Really, Harry looked like an oddly done panther rather than a true Magical Creature. Poor baby, Lucius huffed.

The noise attracted the boy’s attention and before he could escape Lucius was tackled back onto their pillow. Harry was playfully growling and Lucius gamely shoved back. His veela side was no older than his mate and mewled at the chance to play. Behind them the door suddenly clicked open and Lucius wiggled away, leading the black veela on a chase through the mansion. The house elves made themselves scarce, perhaps remembering better than their masters that veela used to regularly eat elves.

Finally, Harry caught him in the garden, rolling him through a fragrant patch of green. This time, Lucius knew to lift his tail to Harry’s triumphant claiming, fresh blood running from his nape. His arsehole protested as well but the white veela just wiggled and clawed at the cool dirt. Again neither of them orgasmed, but Lucius felt happy just the same. With the shaded cool ground beneath him, the sun warming him from above and his mate wrapped tightly about him Lucius fell asleep, uncaring of the dirt or open air. When he woke hours later it would be once again as a man. Harry was still in veela form, but, waking when Lucius stirred, he easily changed back. Watching from inches away, all Lucius could see was a blurring no matter how hard he squinted, and then Harry was back. Gathering up their coats they went in for dinner, pale and tanned fingers casually entwined and unremarked upon. Neither took notice of any subtle changes to Lucius’ appearance, both glad the blond was becoming what he should have always been.

 

HP HP HP HP HP HP

 

When Harry did not find his mate in the library he immediately wandered out into the blond’s second favored place amongst the dozens of rooms that filled the mansion: the garden. Bringing forth his veela only enough to perk his nose he followed the trail of scent to his mate. Lucius was stretched out on a soft patch of grass, plume of tail lazily waving in the air as he stalked a fat bee dancing just part his nose. For the past six weeks the blond had lived in his veela form, exploring the world that had been denied to him for so long. From bees to flowers Lucius diligently stalked his prey with playful intensity. Even though he had done much the same when he had first donned his coat it was somehow more kittenish watching Lucius do the same. It was certainly more erotic and Harry firmly wrangled those desires.

Though Lucius was a full grown man his veela growth had been prematurely stunted, even before he’d gone into his first heat. A year had thankfully elapsed between Harry’s veela maturation and that first itching, burning ache to just fuck. He still fondly remembered that first time, spent with the Weasley twins and their collection of toys. When he looked in Lucius’ eyes, however, he could find no awareness of himself as a sexual creature. It raised a conflict in Harry on an instinctual level, his veela confused over whether his mate was an adult or child, but he knew the only way to fully awake Lucius’ veela side was to encourage him to accept the pleasures of his body.

Harry well knew that if anyone from Hogwarts or the Order had borne witness to his treatment of the former deatheater over the past month there would have been strident objections. Though they never openly spoke of it, Harry knew Lucius had been physically and sexually abused by Voldemort and his followers. Modern thought would dictate avoiding any sexual contact whatsoever and handling Lucius with utmost care at a cautious distance. None of which Harry had done, simply because modern sensibilities had nothing to do with veela. Lucius was his mate and though he was currently too damaged to consciously recognize his body’s yearnings, it would have hurt him more in the long run if the blond’s mate had refused to touch him. On their most primal levels, veela needed the touch of their mate to live. 

Watching Lucius viciously eat a flower, happily growling until he abruptly coughed and spit the offending bloom out, Harry wondered if he was going to go insane before his mate was ready for him. They could have coupled as humans, he was certain Lucius wouldn’t fight him, but that would only have increased his frustration and possibly back lashed on him. His veela needed its mate and in a very real, painful, sense, Lucius wasn’t it.

Ears twitching amidst his mane of silver white hair Lucius rubbed his face into the grass, clawed hands kneading into the dirt. His low pitched purr was a siren’s call Harry could not resist and he pulled a shrunken chest out of his pocket. A whispered word and he bounded over to his mate, crouching in front of him. Lucius’ head jerked up in surprise and Harry’s kissed his nose before he leapt away, tail lightly whapping the blond’s face in challenge. 

The romp would not end the way Harry wished it would, but it was still fun to chase each other about, pushing Lucius to discover the limits of this form. The blond was getting very good at scaling trees, Harry grumbled to himself, throwing his heavier bulk up the tree’s trunk after the more svelte veela. Maybe the Slytherin was part snake, but Harry grinned, he was not part bird and the dark veela caught him mid-leap from branch to branch. Lucius gave a short yelp to suddenly find himself upended under Harry’s arm, instinctively curling into his body as Harry carried them back to the flower strewn ground.

They rolled in a tangle of limbs until Harry had the blond beneath him, wiggling as much as he could. He did not struggle out of fear, bottom lip caught by sharp little teeth to hold in his merriment, and Harry was as careful as always to keep his ardent interest away from Lucius‘ notice. Holding his wrists to the crushed pansies Harry playfully nipped at his throat, wanting to hear him squeal. Lucius wiggled harder, starting to pant. A long leg slid up between Harry’s, the blond arching to rub them together.

Harry froze. The scents swirling around them were changing, Lucius’ musk deepening. Sparking a reciprocal pheromone change in Harry’s. Could their day have finally come? The blond moaned sharply, eyes widening in mounting fear as a warm flush brightened his skin. 

“Harry?” Lucius whispered, unconsciously rubbing against him. “What is happening?”

“Shhh,” Harry soothed, starting a rough purr to calm the panicking veela. Letting go of his wrists Harry settled more heavily against his mate, gently rocking, caressing his shivering sides. Lucius reacted as hoped; gasping sharply and clinging tightly in mounting excitement. “I think you’re feeling your first heat, fox.”

“Heat . . .,” Lucius whined softly, straining against him, “I, Harry, please. I am burning!”

Okay, this heat was coming on fast. Trying to think with his own erection digging into the soft fur covering Lucius’ hip Harry groaned. They needed to . . .needed to . . . “Change back, Luce,” Harry said desperately, changing back himself. His dark coat fell around them and Lucius grabbed at it.

“Can’t,” the blond cried, mewling sharply and thrashing in his hold. “Make this stop, Harry! Stop it at once!”

Harry shook his head. “It is a heat, my fox. Unfortunately, they happen and there are only two ways to deal with them: satisfy it or isolate yourself and ride it out.” He carded back his mate’s hair, sympathy shining in his verdant eyes. “I can tell you from experience the second will be agonizing and last on nigh a week. Surrender to what your body asks of you and the burning will abate quickly into a unique pleasure you’ll not know outside of a heat. Let me try to change you back. It might help.” Firmly he pushed his veela against Lucius’, forcing the submissive beast to retreat. The blond whimpered at the forced change, twisting in brief pain, but still looked somewhat relieved when he at last blinked open his eyes, fully human. The fever of his heat looked undiminished, however, and Lucius groaned.

Maddened argent eyes stared up into his, but Harry had been nothing but forthright since Lucius had come here. He had no reason to lie now when it’d been his right to bed Lucius whenever he chose. Reading about the biology and drives of a magical race was a far cry from experiencing it and Harry saw that realization dawn in Lucius’ eyes. This was real. Though it had taken him over two decades he was at last reaching veela maturity. 

Harry grinned, happy for his mate, for their bond. “Lucius?”

The blond shakily nodded, but struggled when Harry took up rubbing against him. “A Malfoy does not copulate in the grass like a commoner,” he prudishly protested.

The brunette chuckled, licking a path from collarbone to ear. “We’re not in the grass, we’re on a bed of flowers.”

Yet Lucius did not relax, even as his body desperately arched into Harry’s. “Not our first time, Harry,” he quietly enjoined. 

The man was truly determined to drive him mad, but Harry stopped. Took a deep breath, which really didn’t help, taking in a great lungful of their mingled pheromones. Trembling fingers ghosted across Lucius’ flushed cheeks and Harry kissed his beautiful fox even as he apparated them to their bedroom. They landed softly on the bed and Harry drew back, grinning wickedly. Lucius undulated beneath him, long slender hands sliding up to catch the hem of his shirt and slowly draw it up. The white coat splayed out over the red coverlet beneath the blond brought forth the luminance of the slowly revealed skin. 

Harry stilled his wrist when a wide patch of that pale belly was bared, trembling with the blond’s panted breath. His hand, tanned a creamy gold, must have felt cold because Lucius flinched to feel his fingers lightly stroke his over warm skin. Silvery blue eyes watched him, watched him lay a proprietary hand and slide it up under the shirt to brush over a pebbled nipple. Lucius’ breath shuddered out of him but he did not look away.

“My silver fox, tell me you are mine. That what we do today will just be a beginning.”

Lucius’ eyes closed for the longest minute of Harry’s life. The blond veela was shivering constantly with desperate need yet his face was almost serene when he at last met Harry’s expectant gaze. “You are my mate,” he husked. “MINE and no other’s.”

“Yes.” Harry slipped off the bed, quickly retrieving his wand and spelling away his clothes. Then Lucius’. “I am yours alone.”

Pale ivory skin and silvery blond hair spread out over pristine white fur that shone with a blue purity. Those impossibly long legs bent open and wide to receive him with the veela‘s smooth slender cock rising from its bed of platinum curls: Harry’s fantasy come reality. Rising gracefully to his elbows Lucius smiled, most likely at his dumbstruck expression. “And I yours.”

A whispered word brought him a jar of lubricant and Harry climbed back atop his mate, abandoning his wand under the pillows so he could again concentrate on his quickly unraveling fox. The sensation of skin on skin made them both groan, Lucius changing pitch as he whimpered and mewled, bucking against the weight atop him. The blond was again lost in his tumultuous rage of emotions. He felt feverish, but Harry only briefly marveled at the stubbornness of the man to repress the demands of nature and fate to insist on a mutual claiming.

“Shhh, Lucius, this is meant to happen,” Harry soothed, stroking his sweat sheened chest and stomach, frowning at the quaking tremble of the flesh beneath his hands. Had his first heat been as bad for him? 

“Now, Harry, please, now,” the words were disjointed and made little sense, but he understood well enough the legs that wrapped around him and the hands that clawed at his back. He wasn’t certain, but if this was Lucius’ first heat since puberty then it was going to quickly turn agonizing if he wasn’t soon gratified.

Slicking his fingers, he pressed one quickly through the veela’s entrance, hissing as anal muscles clamped tightly onto the invading digit. Lucius’ whole body was clenched and Harry realized there was no way to take him in this state without hurting him. A moment to think and he muttered another spell, the effects immediately noticed as the vice around his finger relaxed. Two fingers thrusted in and scissored, barely stretching the blond’s passage before being replaced by a length significantly harder.

Lucius howled as his body was breached by Harry’s tumescent shaft. Silver hair whipped against his face and shoulders as the veela thrashed, the powerful arching of his back lifting them both from the mattress. Tightening his grip on the slimly pale hips Harry pressed inside until Lucius had taken every inch of him. An exquisite clench of heat that convulsively spasmed as Lucius orgasmed. The Gryffindor gritted his teeth to keep from coming himself, riding out the first of many orgasms to come. Both their stomachs were slick with come and the veela’s manhood had not noticeably softened. Forcing his breathing to a slow in and out Harry cautiously began to move. Shallow thrusts that barely moved him in Lucius’ body.

They started slowly, but Lucius did not allow them to long linger at that agonizing pace. With voice and body he urged Harry to a harder pace, to impale him fully with all the strength he could muster. They rocked together with heaving breath, grunting and crying aloud over the wet slap of their bodies. Harry knew he was bruising Lucius’ pale flesh with his grip but he could not relent, could not slow down. Could not stop. They were beasts, straining into one another, striving for a unity just beyond their ken. 

Harry’s coat, slid partly off during their rut, dissolved into a swirl of darkness. It swept over their entangled bodies, neither noticing when Lucius’ coat fell into the cloud of energy dancing over them. Their forms blurred as they neared the pinnacle, lost in a starry nimbus of darkness. Veela to veela, their very magicks wedded together in a surge of ecstasy that swept them up in a blinding explosion.

*

Feeling the warmth of his coat draped over his nude body Harry slowly swam back to consciousness. Turning his head he saw Lucius sprawled out next to him, his own coat down around his hips, face turned away. When he tried to move Harry groaned, feeling a general ache throughout, but stubbornly flopped over onto his side. Why hadn’t anyone told him mating would take so much out of him? He felt as weak as a babe, but lifting his hand to touch that beautiful expanse of bared ivory he could also feel their bond. He could feel Lucius, a slightly sweet coolness faintly occupying a corner of his mind and around his heart.

At his touch Lucius stirred. A slender hand slowly lifted to brush back his tangled hair, a moan Harry sympathized with coming softly. “Fox?” Harry whispered, the endearment sounding raspy from his raw throat. The blond turned to look at him and Harry’s breath caught.

No one had told him to expect this.

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.  
And now, to blow this story out of the water. heheh . . . (er, that’s my evil chuckle)

***  
After three months of just his mate and himself Harry felt conflicted opening his door to guests. Admittedly, he had missed his friends, but none of them except for Remus, Albus, Severus and Ron knew that he had taken Lucius as his mate. Tonight that would change and he knew a feeling of loss. These last three months had been idyllic and were about to come to an end in many ways.

Knowledgeable of his godfather’s temper and wanting to keep the dinner’s fireworks to a minimum, Harry invited Remus and Sirius to come early in the afternoon. Lucius wanted nothing to do with the Gryffindors and had retreated to the garden. He’d stomped off with a stack of reports and interviews, but Harry suspected he’d be chasing butterflies before too long. Reunited with his veela self Lucius’ appearance had changed, enough so that he was going to shock a few people at dinner.

“Harry!” Sirius cried when he opened the door, lunging forward to sweep his godson into a twirling hug. The emerald eyed wizard laughed and hugged him back, so pleased to see his Snuffles looking rather healthy. The animagi had almost been lost to them too many times for Harry not to appreciate the renewed sparkle in the older man’s eyes. A sparkle that was no doubt due in large part to the quietly smiling man propping up the doorway.

“Hey Sirius,” Harry said as his godfather returned his feet to the ground. “Good afternoon, Remus.”

“Hello, Harry. This is quite the set up you have here,” Remus smiled.

“I’ll say!” Sirius exclaimed, spinning around as he took in the grand entrance with its elaborate spiral staircases. “This place is bloody huge! What the hell do you need with a place this monstrous?”

Harry shrugged. “It fits my tastes.” Like a certain pampered blond who’d never batted an eye at the extravagant trappings. He grinned at Remus’ soft snort. “Come on. We can have lunch,” he almost said his study but realized Lucius might want access to his desk, “in the morning room.”

“Morning room,” Sirius repeated with raised eyebrows and Harry cringed inside realizing how pompous he sounded. “Sure, lead away.”

“So, Harry,” Remus said as they followed the brunette beneath one of the staircases, “Molly told us you’ve been giving interviews.”

“Yes,” Harry slowly answered. “Not in person and only in writing.”

“She said something about that. About how mature and well spoken you were though you hardly say anything at all.”

“Yeah? I guess I must read better than I talk.” Lucius would certainly agree on that one.

“That could be it,” Remus laughed and Harry shot him a sharp look. The interviews were a waste of his time as far as he was concerned, but Lucius took some kind of perverse fun in pretending to be Harry Potter and outwitting the reporters with their oftentimes loaded or suggestive questions. Had Remus guessed the blond’s thinly veiled condescension in the interviews?

The house elves brought lunch and Harry pushed his food around his plate while he thought of how to begin this conversation with Sirius. It was all he had thought about for the last couple of days. His godfather was rambling on about the missions Albus had sent him and Remus on, but Harry barely listened. Across the table Remus watched him with a sympathetic expression.

“You might as well just tell him, Harry,” the werewolf finally said.

“Eh?” Sirius looked from one to the other. “Tell me what?”

“Yes, well,” Harry’s eyes darted around the room till they landed on a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet “Have you stayed up with the Daily Prophet, Sirius?”

His godfather wrinkled his nose. “You know I don’t, Harry. It’s a rubbish tabloid.”

“Yeah,” Harry slowly replied. “See, the thing is, did you know my mother was a veela?”

He got the response he expected, Sirius dropping his forkful of chocolate cheesecake. “What?”

“My mother and Aunt Petunia had different fathers. My grandfather was a veela who left my grandmother when he met his veela mate.”

“Veela?” The older brunette twisted to look at his lover. “Did James know Lily was a veela? Why didn’t they say something?”

“It’s possible James didn’t know, Siri,” Remus softly answered. “Veela are a secretive species since they are very vulnerable to the less scrupulous. The Ministry doesn’t require them to register because of such a danger of abuse.”

“But, Harry,” Sirius said, turning back to his godson, “you’re a veela? Is that why you’ve moved out here?”

“Partly. Mainly I wanted my privacy.”

The beautiful Black nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck as he stared at nothing. These last few years and Remus’ heavier influence had mellowed the volatile animagi and it showed as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “How long have you known?”

“A few years.” Seeing the hurt bloom in those expressive blue eyes Harry tugged at his hair, frustrated. Why did this all have to be so hard? “We were at war, Sirius. I barely told anyone.”

“Who?”

“Albus. Remus.”

“You knew,” Sirius challenged the werewolf, obviously growing more upset.

“It was not my secret to tell,” his lover calmly answered.

“Okay.” Sirius started up from his chair, bluish black hair twisted between his fingers in an unconscious habit reminiscent of his godson’s. “Okay. Harry is a veela. No one can know. Wait.” He jerked to a stop, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. “Daily Prophet. Did they find out? Is that why you asked? I swear, I’ll kill whoever decided to print such a thing! They’ve put your life in danger!”

“Sirius! They don’t know!” Harry exclaimed, startled at how quickly the older wizard was leaping to his defense. Startled and warmed. “They printed my marriage! Oh Merlin, don’t faint, Sirius!”

“I’m not going to faint like some woman!” Sirius snapped, though his legs wobbled as he shakily returned to his chair. “Just, tell me why you think you’re married.”

“Because I am. Married and mated.” He frowned at the older wizard’s raised eyebrows. “Yes, mated to another veela. He was practically Voldemort’s slave because the bastard had his veela coat. Do you understand that a veela cannot disobey whomever holds their coat? Defeating Voldemort freed him, which was frankly more important to me than a bunch of ungrateful, prejudicial wizards. I brought him here to heal and to cement our bond.”

Sirius’ large hands curled into fists on the armrests of his chair. “I’m not going to like this, am I? You’ve brought me out here to tell me you’ve lost your bloody mind and mated to a deatheater!”

“Yes,” Harry rasped, forcing the words out, “he was a deatheater, but not by choice. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Things happened and we thought it best no one know who he really is.”

“Harry!” Sirius lunged for his godson, intent on shaking some sense into him, but was intercepted by hissing white fur and claws. Instinct changed him into Padfoot, snarling and snapping back. Harry and Remus were shouting, but the black dog couldn’t be distracted from the oddly scented creature trying to rip his throat out. They rolled across the floor and into furniture, a blurring of black and white twisting wildly about.

“Accio mate!” Suddenly Padfoot’s attacker disappeared and he rolled over to see a pale slender figure wrapped in a white fur struggling in Harry’s arms. The sweep of silvery platinum hair, unknown among Muggles, that tangled to just below the waist made him think he was looking at a girl except for the masculine cut of the shoulders. Barring the length of the hair, it could have been Draco Malfoy, but that boy had never been a deatheater. So who? The body was male and young, and Padfoot rumbled softly when Harry dominated his mate by viciously biting his throat. The other boy stiffened, then submitted with a soft noise of entreaty and complaint, stilling. Harry’s arms were full around the youth and his green eyes were hot as he looked over at Remus and Padfoot. 

“I’m sorry, Sirius, but he must have thought you were attacking me.”

“I-It’s quite all right, Harry,” Remus stuttered, staring in open confusion at the couple. His foot nudged Padfoot’s flank. “Be civil and sit yourself in a chair, Siri.” The werewolf followed his own advice, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. Though the white veela had attacked first, he did not mistake the protective way Harry held his mate. Who bore only familial resemblance to the deatheater he remembered from what he could see of the lad. “Harry, um, who is?”

Sirius reluctantly reclaimed his seat, hostility openly warring with his curiosity. When Harry tried to nudge his mate closer the blond growled and resisted. It was interesting to watch that white fur dip and fold yet somehow uphold the pale veela’s modesty.

“No,” the blond growled.

“Fox, they’re not going to hurt you,” Harry reassured.

“That rabid mutt attacked you!”

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed, “I would never hurt Harry!”

The blond veela whipped around, a familiar sneer curling his lips. “Liar! Stay away from my mate!” 

“What the hell? Lucius Malfoy?” Sirius’ gaze darted to Harry before returning to stare at the teenager in front of them. “Harry, what is going on?”

The dark veela stroked the side of Lucius’ face, obviously trying to calm him with his touch. His other arm, however, kept a cautionary restraining hold. The boy obviously knew his mate. “We’re not entirely sure, but Albus thinks Lucius’ long repressed veela side returned him to what was familiar. To when he last wore his coat.”

“Lucius,” Remus slowly said studying his former classmate, trying to place the boy in front of him to his memories, “you look like you did in sixth year.”

“The summer before, actually,” Lucius drawled. “That was when Black’s mother found me out, stole my coat, and presented it to the Dark Lord.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius groaned.

“Did you really think the woman died of natural causes?” The blond arched an eyebrow. “And anyway, how do you think I feel about it? I am forgetting, and despite what everyone may think, being a puny seventeen year old isn’t a fantasy come real.” The thin shoulders drooped and Harry hugged him tighter. “Most of it I would love to forget, but to lose all the memories of my son?”

“What about a pensieve?” Remus suggested, looking sympathetically on the veela couple. Harry had never expressed a problem having a mate old enough to be his father, perhaps understanding that in the Wizarding World such a gap was negligible. But now he had one younger than him physically, and soon mentally. Thinking back, Remus remembered Lucius had always been somewhat reserved, certainly arrogant, but before sixth year he’d also been more playful. Though that too had often times been cruel.

Very much like any feline Remus could think of.

“Albus is bringing one this evening,” Harry said, drawing him back to the conversation.

“Harry, Lucius, what are you going to tell everyone?” Remus asked. “Lucius can’t be kept here forever. And he’ll have forgotten-”

“Don’t say it, Lupin,” Lucius hissed.

“His last two years at Hogwarts,” the werewolf finished, smiling apologetically at the offended veela.

Harry’s strong, Quidditch calloused hands stroked the curtain of shimmering blond hair. Lucius was not looking at anyone but he seemed to lean into the caressing. “We’ve already spoken of this, with each other and Albus. We decided it would be too traumatic to send Luce back to a school he would have completely different memories of so I will tutor him. Severus remembers Luce being ahead of the curve anyway, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

“As to the rest of the world, Lucius Malfoy will receive the Dementor’s Kiss for his crimes.” Harry’s fingers lifted the blond’s chin to meet the shining silvered blue eyes. “This is Draco’s cousin from France by way of Canada, Lucian Malfoy Renard. A beautiful, ravishing young man who quite swept the savior Harry Potter off his feet. His classy, charming, oh so witty new spouse.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Indeed.”

“And you’re okay with what people will say of the Malfoy name?” Remus asked Lucius, searching out his eyes to assure himself this was a decision the once proud deatheater had fully agreed to.

“There is no recovering the Malfoy name on my part,” Lucius snapped. “We can hardly tell everyone the truth and that is what it would take to clear my name. Draco, however, publicly sided with the Light, and redeemed the Malfoy name doing so.”

“Why not?” Sirius shrugged, trying to look anywhere but at his godson being cute with a Malfoy. “No one would believe the truth. Hell, I barely believe it.”

“How quickly is Lucius losing his memory?” Remus shot his troublesome lover a sharp glance. “Are you going to be okay with dinner tonight, Lucius?”

“I assure you, there is no cause for concern. From anyone.” The blond aimed the last remark over his shoulder as he stepped away from the Gryffindors, gathering his fur as tightly he did his dignity. The pale teenager looked out of place in the brightly colored room, Remus silently noted. Like a spot of snow in the middle of summer. Honesty and full disclosure were never the Slytherin’s style and he had obviously reached his limit. Harry let him go with a kiss to his upturned cheek and a few whispered words. Icy blue eyes spared Sirius a final glare. “Keep your vile scent off my mate, Black!”

The deceptively strong slim hand on his arm shut Sirius’ mouth before he could shout back. Across from them Harry collapsed back into his chair with a tired rubbing of his eyes.

“He seems to be adjusting well, Harry,” Remus reassured, “even with these obviously unexpected developments.”

“That’s cause we’re mated,” Harry softly replied. “The assurance and safety of the bond is instinctive. It’s even stronger now that he’s a newly matured veela.”

“Does anyone have any idea how,” Sirius’ hand waved towards the door, “that happened?”

“Not really,” Harry shrugged. “There’s no written documentation of it anyway, which is perhaps just as well. Veela are creatures of magic.” The younger wizard scratched at his eyebrow. “Albus thinks Lucius is being given a second chance. Like a start over or something.”

Sirius leaned forward with a decidedly wicked grin. “Anyone besides Albus know, because, please, I would love to be the one to tell ol’ Snivellus?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head, suddenly grateful for his godfather’s irrepressible passion for mischief.

***  
When Harry next opened his door he was practically shoved to one side by a visibly upset Draco Malfoy. His old school rival had known his father was here instead of Azkaban, had even known Harry and Lucius were mates, but he’d just been told today about his father’s unexpected regression. Following his husband Ron apologetically shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry about that, Harry. Drake didn’t believe a word Professor Dumbledore told us.” The lanky redhead scratched an ear. “Gotta say, kinda hard to believe.”

“It’s okay, Ron,” Harry said, closing the door. “In this case, seeing is believing. So how’d you come?”

Meanwhile, Draco had wasted no time in calling for his father. His raised voice drew Remus and Sirius out of the kitchen, Sirius licking his fingers, but Harry waved them off. After what felt like too long a wait they caught movement at the top of the stairs: a glimpse of pale gold and silver, and Draco was halfway up the steps before Harry could call out to him.

“Draco, he may not remember you!”

The blond veela ignored him, attention caught by the slender vision returning his regard from the landing. Lucius had dressed himself in flowing sand colored pants and a white shirt, the buttons halfway done showing his lean smooth chest. In one hand he gripped his veela coat, the startling whiteness spilling about his feet and the steps. Standing at the foot of the stairs with Ron Harry was silently amazed again at the overwhelming beauty of his mate.

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed, staring up dumbstruck at Harry’s shoulder.

“Father,” Draco said softly, and Harry felt his chest tighten at the wealth of pain and longing squeezed into that one word. The short haired blond had stopped a few steps down from the teenager, Harry and Ron keeping a respectable distance a few steps below. Harry carefully watched his mate, smiling encouragement when confused silvery blue eyes searched for him. He nodded and Lucius looked back to the son who was now older than he.

“My apologies,” he quietly began, empty hand lifting to absently brush aside the air separating them. “My memory of you . . .is not recent. You,” and his sharp white teeth bit into his bottom lip, “look as I hoped you would.”

Whatever instinct or fear had held Draco in check he overcame, surging up the stairs to lift his father into his arms. The pale veela hugged each other tightly, Lucius burying his nose in Draco’s neck to take in his scent. Harry could smell Draco’s tears, though he didn’t hear him openly sob until Lucius murmured, “You smell like my kit. My little dragon, you are the one thing I do not want to forget.”

“I won’t let you, father, I promise,” his son vowed, tightening his hold on the thin teenager.

A soft noise prompted Harry to glance over his shoulder, Remus’ sad smile sympathetic to the scene above them. “Albus has come,” the werewolf softly said. “He said Lucius can use the pensieve now before dinner if he wants.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Harry whispered back. “Tell him we’ll be down in a few?”

The sandy haired wizard nodded before going back the way he’d come. Watching father and son whisper to each other Ron frowned, wrapping his arms about himself. Seeing the doubt and pain in the keeper’s chocolate eyes Harry bumped him. When that haunted gaze swung his way he raised an inquisitive eyebrow but Ron just shook his head.

“It’s nothing to be done about, mate,” the redhead pitched his voice to their ears alone. “You’re just very lucky, Harry, more lucky sometimes than I think you know.”

Harry frowned, but then realized what Ron was intimating. He and Lucius were both veela, mated for life. Ron and Draco were not. Just like his grandmother, Ron could one day be left behind, discarded for Draco’s veela mate. What kind of torture was that, never knowing if the stranger on the street was going to take away your life, your happiness and family? It had to be complete agony, always in fear of the day.

“Ron,” he started, needing to say something, but his friend’s swift headshake stopped him.

“Don’t, Harry,” Ron warned. “It’s a risk I know I have to accept.”

“Draco may never have a veela mate, Ron,” the ebon haired veela answered, “and even if he does, it doesn’t mean your relationship would have to end. My grandmother, according to her journal, could not accept someone else into their bed. She chose her pride over her love. No one says you have to make the same choice she did.”

“Not gonna be my decision to make so let’s just leave it,” Ron said curtly, heading back down the stairs. Harry frowned to watch him go, but he couldn’t think of an easy cure to Ron’s problem.

***  
Draco wanted to sit in with his father and Albus, but the old wizard closeted himself alone with Lucius. Some of the memories would be traumatic and Albus declared privacy was called for at these times. That he was also barred made Harry bristle, but the arrival of Severus Snape and Bill Weasley distracted him. Odd that, those two courting, but being an eldest child had instilled the soul of patience into Bill and someone of such steady, unruffled calm was what Snape needed to start his own healing in the wake of Voldemort’s demise. The Potions Master had a most pleased, befuddled expression on his face every time he looked at his husband’s lithely muscled form that Harry could only grin and watch, realizing what the looks meant. Snape seemed almost terrified, but proud, too.

“What’s that look for?” Remus asked as he joined him on his side of the library they had all retired to while they waited on Albus and Lucius.

“I think ol’ Snape filled Bill’s oven,” Harry quietly answered. The werewolf raised his eyebrows before glancing in the couple’s direction. Severus was glaring sullenly at Sirius while hovering about his Weasley, who was animatedly chatting about motorbikes with the Black. Bill had a hand on Severus’ person, giving necessary contact while focusing on his conversation, obviously used to dealing with his mercurial spouse. Remus delicately sniffed, but there were other hormones clogging the air.

Draco had backed Ron into a discreet corner, their heads close together. Veela pheromones were coming from their direction in waves, heavy and cloying. From what he could see Ron had his arms crossed and was upset about something. He didn’t shove off the hands at his hips, though, and Draco’s body language didn’t speak of anger.

“What’s on with those two?” Remus asked.

“Let’s not even start,” Harry grumped. “That is all Draco’s problem and I wish him the luck of solving it. At least I can count on you and Sirius having a normal relationship.”

“Normal?” Remus’ eyebrows lifted at that and he glanced over at his lover. Tall and willowy with his pure-blood breeding, Sirius was as arrogant and charming as he had ever been with his long bluish black hair and teasingly mocking blue eyes. Calmer now after everything he had weathered, but never tame. “You do remember I’m a werewolf, right?”

“It’s not your sex lives that make you normal, Remus,” Harry dismissed, ignoring the older wizard’s choked noises at his proclamation, “though on the subject of sex Lucius did say he had a few vials of Narcissa’s eggs at Gringotts.”

That was news. Frightening really. As a werewolf Remus could not carry a child or impregnate Sirius, but there were magical means if the needed ingredients were to be had. Narcissa Malfoy had once been a Black, but his sperm was still contaminated and he quietly said as much.

Harry waved his hand. “Hermione doesn’t see a problem. Combining magic and Muggle science she’s confident she could make a healthy fetus. The harder part will be convincing Sirius to carry it.”

“He might surprise you, Harry,” Remus said. Years ago they had accepted there could be no children, but Remus knew how much his lover wanted one. Or six. Arthur Weasley was secretly Sirius’ hero.

“I hope he does,” Harry grinned, but anything else he might have said was cut short by Albus ushering a dazed Lucius into the room. Harry was immediately at his side, with Draco steps behind, and the blond summoned a smile for them both.

“I’m fine,” Lucius said from the comfort of his husband’s arms. “The pensieve found a lot I had forgotten, not all of it bad. Albus is going to take it for now.”

“Lucius was privy to many of Voldemort’s meetings,” Dumbledore explained, “and witnessed the committing of several crimes that can now be resolved.” The old wizard patted Lucius’ shoulder. “By using the pensieve his memory loss may accelerate, but at least his old life is preserved.”

“How quickly?” Draco asked.

“Tomorrow or the next day, I’m afraid.”

“Harry?” Ron’s tentative voice drew everyone’s attention to where the younger Weasley was perched on the back of the settee. The redhead flushed, but gamely met his best friend’s eyes. “Why doesn’t Lucius write himself a letter?” Warm blue eyes flicked to Lucius’. “I mean, it’s all going to be awful confusing right after, right?”

“Good suggestion, Ron,” Bill praised.

“Thank you, Ron, that is a good idea,” Lucius echoed before frowning. “Though I am not certain where to start with myself.”

“I’d start with the good bits,” Sirius suggested, not unkindly. While it was obvious he was still somewhat shocked by everything it was equally plain that the animagi had decided it was beneath him to slander an already fragile teenager. “They’ll be the most important in the end.”

Next: the Conclusion!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

***

In the darkness a slender body pressed closer, the warmth of the arms that held him unable to banish his fear. “I can feel it. Harry . . .”

“Shhh, I’ll be right here, waiting.”

*  
When Lucius woke up he was startled to find himself in a strange bed. There was a small scroll resting on the pillow next to his, familiar script spelling his name in rich black ink. He absently snatched it as he sat up, wildly looking about a bedroom more lavish than any he had ever seen at the mansion or Hogwarts. Where was he? He clearly remembered going to bed in his own home, in his own bedroom and bed. Even his pajamas were different, though he absently noted they were of acceptable quality. Then he registered his coat lying next to him and his chest painfully clenched. Someone had found his coat. With fumbling hands he pulled the ribbon on the scroll, confused to recognize his own handwriting.

 

-Dear Lucius,  
How odd to begin a letter thus, but we must start somewhere. I understand that for you, you should be safe in bed at home, but much has happened and most of it will be hard to accept. If you take a moment to think of yourself you’ll feel what I can only describe as a content warmth somewhere around your heart. That is your mating bond to Harry Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Evans.-

 

What? Potter being stupid enough to knock up Evans was no surprise, but the brat was his mate? He was bound to a baby?! Salazar’s Balls, could he shag whoever he wanted or was he going to be half dead before he’d get laid? Pressing a palm to his chest his brain and outraged libido seized. He could feel what the words described. A contentment; a warmth that burned on the edge of pain. Never having felt such a heat before he failed at describing it, but it felt wholly wonderful. Like the heat of an over warm room when you came in from the freezing cold. This was what it felt like to be mated?

Reluctantly his attention returned to the scroll. The unbelievable story did not stop with his mate. Knowing too much intimate detail of his life to be a stranger making a prank the letter writer told of Voldemort and his forced enlistment. His enslavement. Marriage to Narcissa Black and his son by the woman, Draco. The teenager’s hands trembled where they gripped the expensive vellum and he shook his head at what had to be lies. He was no deatheater!

 

\- I know this must seem the poorest of jests, but it is all true. Headmaster Dumbledore has a pensieve of my memories, though I have asked him to wait till you are a few years older to show you all of them. I barely remember how you must be, but veela magic is returning my life to you. I do not want you to be haunted by the past. All that was good in my life is in this house. Through the door at the end of bed you will find Harry, your mate. He defeated Voldemort and freed us from servitude. He is a private man despite his fame and will rely on you to keep him from it all. Down the hall is Draco, a true Malfoy and Slytherin, and my finest pride. He has married a Weasley, but the boy plays a fine game of Quidditch. Even little Severus is here. The life you dreamed of is waiting for you, Lucius. You have a family that loves you, and as trite as that may sound, from where I stand, broken and scarred from decades of torture, degradation and rape at the hands of a sociopath . . . It is the only hope I have strength left to pray for.   
Do not fail me.  
Lucius Octavian Malfoy. -

 

It was his own signature there at the bottom, and he ran his fingers over it. This could all be a hoax, a Marauders’ prank, but that excuse did not explain how he felt inside. He could not think of such a spell or potion, and honestly, concocting such an elaborate story was a little beyond the juvenile Marauders. Making up a tale that he was mated to James was more their style. But how could any of this be true?

There was one way to find out. After his mother had abandoned him he had learned no one was to be trusted. Everyone betrayed you. If the letter was true, his life had proven that. Son, mate, they would soon show themselves to be no different, but he would have to stay vigilant. Without his memories or age they doubtless expected a child, easy to control and enslave. He didn’t really know any more about veelas than what he’d learned in Magical Creatures, but he knew he couldn’t trust some weird stomach ache. Their first mistake had been to leave him his coat and with Slytherin confidence, he smirked to know it wouldn’t be their last.

He growled softly as he jerked his coat about his shoulders and slunk from the bed, changing into his half-man form. The door was just a few feet away, the latch making a soft ‘click’ when he shoved it down. The room beyond was shadowed but he easily picked out the cumbersome frame of the king sized bed that dominated the spacious room. Heavy red satin curtained the bed, but they parted at his approach, quietly pulling back. He froze until he realized it was magic quietly drawing the curtains and animating the sash that knotted them to the bedposts.

A man was revealed, sleeping in a boneless sprawl with his face turned from Lucius’ sight. By the low drape of the sheet he guessed the man, this Harry Potter, was nude, the excellence of his physique unashamedly bared to the veela’s frank curiosity. Unthinking, Lucius sucked in a breath, taking a great lungful of man’s heady scent. The soft noise he blurted took him by surprise and he clapped a hand to his mouth, mortified. The man smelled like Christmas at Hogwarts, warming, yet at the same time, strong and rank like the broom shed where all the boys went to whack off.

Harry’s chest rose with a deep inhalation, his dark head rolling in Lucius’ direction. Large verdant eyes blinked open, the greenest eyes Lucius had ever seen, and Harry smiled up at him as he languidly stretched. “Morning, fox.”

Oh. And there went all his defenses and expectant hostility. Completely lost with two little innocuous words.

Oh.

~*~

It was close to morning when Ron’s nose tickled him. Still asleep, his nose twitched and wrinkled, trying to escape whatever was offending it, but the irritation persisted. Snorting, the redhead rolled over, or at least tried to, finding his freedom tightly restricted. Coming more awake he cracked his eyes to see what the bother was, but all he could make out was white.

“Wot?” he mumbled, wiggling up onto his elbows to discover himself tightly wrapped in an iridescent white blanket. A veela coat and one he knew well by smell and texture. “Dray?”

“This is the only way,” his husband answered from his perch at the foot of the bed. “Giving you my coat is the only way to prove to you I’m never leaving, by my choice or not.”

Merlin, it was too early for this. “I don’t want you by force, Dray,” Ron sighed, scratching at his sleep tousled hair. “I get that you might one day leave me for destiny. It hurts, and I hate it, but I’ve also accepted it.”

Draco’s nose unbelievably notched the air as the blond glared down at him. “But with having my coat you won’t have to. I’ll be yours forever, veela mate or no.”

It was impressive, how cleverly Draco had bound him into his coat without waking him, and Ron absently rubbed his cheek against the silken fur as he debated. Veela were not all that common; it was entirely possible Draco would never meet his ideal veela match. There were no guarantees, except the magic of the coat. “I would miss your veela forms, though. Especially when making love.”

Draco’s eyebrows climbed. “The magic lies in the surrendering, love.” Rolling up onto his hands and knees he slunk up the bed. “Unless you give it up or die, the coat is now rightfully yours.”

“Don’t you mean, you are then rightfully mine?” Ron gasped, the coat blurring about the pale man crouched over him. The redhead closed his eyes to the disorienting sight and when he opened them seconds later a half veela, half man was bearing down on him, heavy sex pushing out from between his legs. Ron bared his throat to the sharp teeth that nuzzled him and opened his body to his husband’s ardent passion with a choked cry.

~*~  
Minister Cornelius Fudge and Amelia Bones were gracious in accepting Senior Auror Granger’s invitation to her offices. The young woman had done much to restore the authority of the Ministry beyond being a pivotal combatant against Voldemort. It was commonly believed Hermione Granger would be Minster herself in a few short years, epitomizing the much lauded “modern wizard” their society strove for. Powerful, smart, and as adept in their shrinking world as she was in the Muggle. 

Being close friends with the savior Harry Potter didn’t hurt her election chances either.

“Thank you, Minister Fudge, Judge Bones, for accepting my invite on such short notice,” Hermione warmly gushed as she came around her desk to clasp hands with the older wizards. With her riotous hair demurely pinned back and her uniform robes impeccable, the young wizard looked every detail the part of a senior Auror and her guests subconsciously reacted desirably. This was not a barely out of school girl, but a seasoned soldier, and they both obediently sat where she indicated in front of her desk. Tea and a plate of cookies and scones immediately appeared. “Tea? The black biscuits are Oreos.”

“Muggle?” Amelia asked as she took one, Fudge’s fingers scrambling right behind hers.

“Yes, American.” Hermione returned to her side of the desk with a small scone.

Both officials enjoyed their cookies, Amelia taking a second with her tea. “Quite good, if I do say so. Thank you, Hermione, that was a treat.”

“Think I’ll have another myself,” Fudge mumbled.

Amelia sipped her steaming tea to chase away the last tastes of chocolate before smoothly doing away with the initial pleasantries. “So, Hermione, the reports coming from this office have been very encouraging.”

Hermione absently broke her scone into pieces onto its napkin while she spoke. “Well, most of the remaining at large deatheaters have fled Europe though we are in negotiation with other Ministries concerning extradition.” 

“Yes,” Fudge frowned, peering at her from under his heavy brows, eyes sparkling with a supposed cleverness that went largely unfounded. “It is unfortunate, though, that some will forever escape justice, isn’t it?”

Hermione stared at him guilelessly. “I am confident everyone will get what they deserve, Minister.” Glancing down at her hands she frowned to see all the crumbs and started to brush them off over the trashcan at her knee.

“But what then of the Malfoys?” Fudge crowed. “Dumbledore may vouch for the younger, for all that means, but what of the senior? All this nonsense that Potter has put us through and for what? It all smacks of conspiracy, I tell you. Malfoy is controlling young Mr. Potter somehow, probably even before the boy started on this whole marrying nonsense. Like the savior of the wizarding world could be allowed to-”

“Oh do shut up,” Hermione snapped, whipping out her wand from where she’d retrieved it while making a production of cleaning her hands. An angered word and both of the older wizards froze in place, eyes glazing over. Now to see if the potion Severus had mixed into the black and white cookies worked like it was supposed to. Giving both a heated glare Hermione stood and walked back to their side of the desk. 

“I had hoped these sorts of measures wouldn’t be necessary, but obviously Harry was right. We cannot trust you to keep Lucius‘ true fate a secret.” Reaching out, she patted Amelia on her stiffened shoulder. “Oh don’t worry, this will be no simple Obliviate. In a few short minutes you will believe like everyone else that Lucius Malfoy received the Kiss. That he is dead and gone. I do wish, Amelia, that we could trust you, but not with the happiness of our family. It’s been too hard won.”

~*~

It was a warm afternoon that saw the normal tranquility of Lucius’ garden banished by the joyful, laughing voices of dozens of people. Everyone who Harry considered family was there, from the Weasleys to Nearly Headless Nick. For the first time since he’d acquired the stately residence the mansion felt full and Harry smiled to realize it was a not entirely comfortable feeling. He definitely liked his privacy, but for occasions such as his wedding celebration, he was willing to concede that crowds had their moments. Just so long as they didn’t cut into his wedding night time.

“What is that look for, Harry James Potter?” Hermione teased as she came up to her friend. “And where’s that jailbait husband of yours?”

They both laughed at that one, Harry pointing with his beer bottle to where Lucius was chatting with Remus, Charlie and Ron, Draco at his back. Barely twenty feet separated him from his spouse, but both mates continually glanced back at the other for reassurance, Lucius more than Harry. “Draco is chaperoning him for the moment. How did things go?”

Hermione studied the way Draco split his attention between his own husband and his father, keeping both possessively close. He had an arm draped over Lucius’ shoulder and as she watched the teenager casually tilted his head as he talked, breathing in his kit’s scent. “Fine. Percy got the two secretaries who knew the particulars, so everything is done.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry murmured, drawing her into a loose hug. “I know I was an ass to ask that of you.”

“No, you only asked what was necessary. Fudge wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut and Amelia would have gotten suspicious of his memory lapse. I’m not going to regret helping a teenager who has nothing to do with crimes that weren’t his fault anyway.”

That was his Hermione, champion of the innocent, and Harry bussed her cheek for it. She blushed and batted him away. “Are you trying to get me mauled by a jealous veela, Mr. Potter?” When Harry just grinned she huffed in annoyance at the stupidity of boys. He did step back a safe pace, however. “Honestly.” She looked again at Lucius. “He’s looking better. A little shell shocked, but happy.”

“Yeah. He’s still taking it all in and sometimes gets this Slytherin look about him, like a wary cat, but he’s coming around. Seeing his classmates all grown up helped convince him this all wasn’t some plot to control him.” He chuckled softly. “Draco blew his mind. It’s weird, having a kid older than you, but I think they’ll end up more like brothers than anything.”

Draco did act very protective, Hermione agreed, but the alpha veela had always acted that way regarding his father. Slinging an arm around her shoulders Harry started them towards the small group. “I think he’s more upset about having to finish school a second time than his son being older than him. The recognition of their bond is there, but its more as veela than as father/son.”

Seeing their approach Lucius’ argent eyes dangerously narrowed and he escaped Draco’s hold to stalk over. Barely sparing Hermione more than a possessive snarl the blond growled at his own mate until Harry stepped away from her and hugged him. Mollified, he sniffed in Hermione’s direction, pointedly ignoring her in favor of curling his long fingers in Harry’s black hair and tugging his nearest ear to his pouting mouth.

“Lupin says a portrait of the woman who betrayed me hangs in the Black residence. I want that painting, Harry.”

Running his hands up and down the silk clad back of his delectable mate Harry frowned. “What do you want with Mrs. Black’s portrait, my fox?”

“I’m going to douse it in turpentine and set it on fire, what do you think?” Lucius snapped. “I am certain that if I knew that such an abomination still existed than I was waiting years to deliver a little comeuppance.” Sliding an arm around his husband’s waist the slender veela steered them back towards their waiting friends. “And besides, as I am to understand that Lupin and Black are hoping to do their pureblood duty it would behoove us to lend any assistance required to guarantee their domestic health. Really, they should be thanking us, but I suppose we shouldn’t begrudge them this token of friendship.”

“Whatever my love wishes.“ Folding his fist into that glorious fall of platinum Harry tugged Lucius’ head back and kissed him deeply, uncaring of their audience. Veela magic might have returned Lucius to his past life, but it had not changed the nature of the man. Lucius Malfoy, by whatever name he was given, was vain, arrogant, possessive . . .and wholly Harry’s.

The End.

~*~

When time allows I will be writing a sequel, but please don‘t expect it any time soon. Here, however, is a summary of the planned crossover: Draco Malfoy’s life was near perfect. When an incident in the US calls him overseas, however, he finds everything he’s fought for threatened by the last person he ever wanted to meet: his mate.

Next in this ol‘ Veela series: Lest Destiny Tear Asunder

Finally, I want to thank everyone who read my first foray into Harry Potter, and an especially big thank you to those who reviewed. I’ve never gotten a bigger or warmer reception to a story. It is you all who lit the fire to write a sequel, and once it is done over in my live journal it will make its journey here. Harry and Lucius will be seen again, rest assured.


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